


It's An Everyday Process

by mahons_ondine



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Chapter 7 is just porn, Coming Out, First Everything, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Poor Kent, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahons_ondine/pseuds/mahons_ondine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent Parson would really like to come out. He would.  If only people would just let him.</p><p>Now with an epilogue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedusaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/gifts).



> I saw [this post](http://jedusaur.tumblr.com/post/142658975130/me-fic-where-kent-parson-tries-to-come-out-and-it) on tumblr, and I could not resist. I tried. I tried almost as hard as Kent Parson tries to come out. But I failed.  
> Just like Kent.  
> There will be more. I have so many ideas. (Or if someone wants to work with me on this.. that could be fun too!)  
> Enjoy!

Kent Parson just cannot catch a break. 

So here’s how it starts.  Kent goes to one GSA meeting in high school when he’s a Freshman—just one—in support of his sister who is tentatively dipping her toes in her first (but certainly not her last) lesbian relationship.  He goes in as an ally, sure, but the leader of the group has this earring and this hair and these jeans that are an appalling orange color, but are pretty much painted on.  And Kent is sitting in his chair, feet dangling, and all he can think is “oh, ok I finally get it now.”

It’s not like he ever had a crush on a girl or anything, but there wasn’t really a boy before either.  And Kent at 14 is still short and awkward and freckled and he has hockey and his dog and he’s never really had time to think about it.  But when the older boy climbs up on a chair to put a movie in the VCR the chair starts to wobble, and Kent is up, and across the room in a flash.  He catches the other boy around the waist, and helps him down to the ground and the boy (Brendon? Brandon? Braddon? Something like that) slides right down his body. 

When he hits the floor he brushes a casual kiss across Kent’s cheek, and murmurs a quick “thanks, sweetheart.”  And Kent pops the most ridiculously hard, extremely awkward boner of his life.  He blushes as red as his hair, and mumbles something distinctly unchill and hightails it out there. 

He has a furious wank in the school bathroom for about the next five minutes, and then skulks around for the remainder of the hour until everyone leaves and he can finally sneak back in and grab his bag.  At least that’s what he tries to do, but when his sister comes out and tells him he has fifteen minutes if he wants to catch a ride with her, well the leader of the group is just sitting there talking to some other kid and they don’t show any signs of stopping, or really even slowing down.  So eventually Kent bites the bullet, and sneaks in, tiptoes down the aisle of chairs and searches for his bag. 

It isn’t there. 

His bag is not fucking there.  Kent tries another aisle, and another.  And he’s just started to move the piles of textbooks off the window sill—maybe he somehow managed to drop his bag behind them?—when a hand comes down to rest on his shoulder. 

“Missing this?”

Kent turns slowly, so very slowly.  If he turns slowly enough, he wonders hysterically, will the guy finally give up and go away?  He thinks that maybe if he doesn’t turn at all the guy will, but that would be really rude and the guy did find his bag, so eventually he turns, fixing his eyes on the bag the older boy is holding out to him.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Kent mumbles.

“I made sure to grab it for you.  I also might have wanted to talk to you.  Figured it would be a good place to start. You might not have spoken to me otherwise,” the older boy teases, propping himself up against a desk. 

“What? No.  I would. Why wouldn’t—I would talk to you.”

“Good to know. I just thought you might be a little uncomfortable.” 

“What, me?” Kent blushes.  “I’m not uncomfortable.” 

The other boy snorts.  “Yeah, you clearly are.  But look, it’s ok.  It happens to everyone sometimes.  I don’t blame you for it.  You can’t help it.  And besides, I shouldn’t have kissed your cheek like that.  It’s just how I am, you know? But then I saw how you reacted, and I thought—“ 

“You saw?” Kent squeaks. 

“Yeah.  Totally.  I mean it was written right across your face. And look I’m not judging, but maybe this isn’t the right place for that kind of reaction, you know?”

“I’m so sorry.  No, I know.  It’s never happened to me before.  I don’t know what happened.  I really—look I just kind of realized how I felt, and like, I don’t even know what I’m doing.  I just came for my sister, you know? But then you almost fell, and I just… I’m really, really sorry.  Gosh I’m so embarrassed.”

“It’s ok, kid.”

“Kent. My name’s Kent.” Kent stares up at him from behind his eyelashes.   

“Alright.  It’s ok, Kent.  I’m used to that kind of reaction.  I mean you’re not exactly the first guy or girl to respond that way.”

“Girl?”

“Yeah. Like, this old lady on the bus totally wouldn’t even look at me.  I helped her on and she was very nice but then she saw me go sit back down with my boyfriend, and she glared, like, past me for the whole rest of the ride.  So, like, I get it, alright? It isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and while I wish everyone could be cool with it I totally get it. Lots of people are uncomfortable.” 

Kent stares. “Uhh, no.  Look.  It doesn’t make me _uncomfortable_.  It’s totally fine.  Being gay is, uh, cool? My sister is gay, I think. ” 

“Yeah, you said.  And I think it’s great that you want to support her and all, but maybe you shouldn’t come back. “

“What, wait why? I don’t—“

“Kent—out there in the rest of the world people have to share space.  And I can’t get too upset if people just happen to be uncomfortable with me on the bus or like, in line at the movies or something.  As long as they’re quiet about it, like, fine.  It’s annoying, but they’re allowed to have their opinions.  But maybe if gay people make you so uncomfortable you can’t even be in the same room with them, well maybe GSA isn’t for you.”

The older boy’s words seem to echo in the room, and Kent begins to feel a little bit frantic. He’s not quite sure how it all went so wrong, but he just knows he has to get it back on track. He can’t exactly say, like ‘no, I wasn’t uncomfortable with you being gay, I was uncomfortable cause my pants were super tight cause you made my dick wake up,’ though.  There has to be another way.  There just has to be, he thinks.  But the other boy is standing up, and it looks like he’s getting ready to go.  

“Wait.  Look.  You don’t get it.  I really.  Look, I want to be here, ok?”

“Kent.  I understand, but this needs to be a safe space,” the other boy says through gritted teeth.

“No, see.  Look.  I think— Oh hell.” 

Kent launches himself at the other boy, wrapping his arms around his neck, and presses his lips against the other boy’s pinker, plusher set.  His lips are parted, just slightly, in surprise, and he’s frozen still.  His body is hard against Kent’s and Kent has never felt anything like it in his whole life.  He’s pretty sure his body is actually on fire, and a choir of angels is about to fly in through the window, when the other boy finally moves, lifting his hands to grip Kent’s biceps and—oh god—shove him back against the radiator.

“What the hell, man?”

“What?” Kent whispers in between panting breaths. 

“I get that you want to be supportive to your sister, but like, this is so not the way to do it. You really shouldn’t be like, queerbaiting me or something.  Not cool, man, not cool.  God, I hate it when straight dudes want to like show they’re so cool and kiss the gay boy.  It always ends in me getting beaten up. No thanks. I think you should go, Kent.”

“But—“ 

“Dude, get out of here before I tell our advisor. Not cool, man.  Just.  Not. Cool.”

Kent knows he should try to explain, knows he should just come out with it and try to say again that he really, really does think he likes guys and he isn’t just playing around and he would never try to beat up any gay guy.  But then his sister is calling from the hall, and the other boy is glaring at him, and so he scoops his bag up off the floor, and holds it against himself(to cover up the second unfortunate erection of the day), and he runs.

After that he can’t ever seem to go back to the club.  He tries once, but the glare he gets for his troubles turns his blood into ice, and only two months later it’s summer.  And then he starts billeting and he never has to go back there at all.  He’s kind of relieved, but also kind of pissed, you know?  Cause it was his first kiss.  And it was kind of a terrible kiss.  Ok, not kind of.  The other guy didn’t even kiss him back, but it lights something up inside of him. 

It’s just the beginning, he thinks.  Next time I’ll make sure I’m clear.  Next time I’ll like, come out or something.  And he tries to.  He really does.  But Kent Parson just cannot catch a break, or a boyfriend, no matter how hard he tries.  And he tries.  Oh, he tries achingly hard. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gets caught with his pants down as it were, but still no one can see what's right in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two notes.  
> One: this includes discussion of a teenager (16) in sexual situations. If that makes you uncomfortable this won't be for you. 
> 
> Two: This situation seems unbeleivable, but it shouldn't. It is based in large part on something that actually happened to me.

Kent Parson has kind of a reputation for being a jerk. He knows it, I mean how could he not, but he doesn't really mind. He cultivated it, to be honest. He just wants to be able to speak his mind in every situation, and it's easy when everyone already expects you to be a jerk. But underneath he's a really nice guy, honest.

He likes babies and animals. He recycles. He helps little old ladies across the street. He's a standup guy. But like, somehow even _that_ has gotten him in trouble.

The first time this happened was when he was in high school. He tried so hard to be liked, to be helpful and it just doesn't seem to work. See, when he first started billeting he lived with a family with one older kid in college, and a pair of adorable but exhausting elementary school kids. And like, they were just so nice to him, you know? So he tried not to be a bother. He washed dishes and kept his room super neat and always helped out with the laundry.

It's that last one that ends up being a problem. He starts out just doing his own laundry, right? That's a big help with all the gross hockey gear. But then the kids need stuff done. And then the mom and dad. And before long he's doing everyone's laundry. Mostly he doesn't fold it, but one day the rest of the family is out running errands and the laundry is just sitting there getting wrinkled and he decides--screw it, I'll put it all away.

And that's when he finds them. In the mom's sock drawer right underneath the pile of mismatched socks are a pair of magazines. And well, ok, he's a nice guy and polite and all, but like, he's 16, ok? He's curious. And he pulls them out and they're something called _Playgirl_.

Now Kent is a pretty normal 16 year old, right? He's seen porn and all before, but that has always been on a computer screen and this is just different.

He sits down to read.

And stare. And stroke the pictures. And gosh, it's so hot seeing these guys, and like, he's a normal guy, right? So yeah, he gets hard, and yeah he jerks off to his billet mom's porny magazines in her bedroom. So sue him. He just--he hasn't had a lot of experience and it's so exciting and differentand he can't help himself.

The family gets back after he's gotten off, but he's just sitting there on the bed, flipping through the magazine with his dick hanging out and his come on his hands, and he has to tuck himself away and wipe his hand off and shove the rest of the laundry in the drawers. They don't catch him, but it's a near thing, and with his heart beating out of his chest he swears to never ever do it again.

He lasts 11 days.

And then he's back in there every chance he gets. He figures he's being pretty sneaky about it, but he's proven wrong a couple of months later when his billet mom sits him down on a Saturday morning and confronts him about it.

"Kenny, we need to talk about your grades."

"What? No, they're fine."

"They've gone down a bit. And I think I know why."

"No! It's nothing. The hockey isn't a problem, you know it's not. Please, I need to play hockey."

"No, Kent. Not the hockey. These." She pulls out the somewhat battered magazines."

"Uh. I don't know what you--"

"They were on _top_  of my socks, Kent."

Kent flushes."It's not what you think."

"I'm sorry, but I think it is. I understand that puberty is hard and you're curious about what your body is doing--"

"What?"

"It's ok. Really Kent it is. I just don't want your curiosity to get in the way of your schoolwork."

"My curiosity..."

"Yes, it's very natural to be interested in what your body might be like in a few years. I know it doesn't mean anything."

"Well, no actually--"

"Don't worry we know you aren't gay."

"Oh, I didn't think... See the thing is--"

"Look, Kent honey. This is just not a good use of your time. It's not great information, and it is eating up your schoolwork time. I'll get you some better materials and you can start to focus on your schoolwork again, alright?"

"Well, no--"

"This isn't up for discussion, Kent."

"Fine," Kent groans, slinking off to his room so that he can bury his burning face in a pillow.

The next morning he finds an enormous health textbook at the foot of his bed, and hidden underneath, wrapped in brown paper is a copy of _Playboy_ magazine.

His billet dad winks at him at breakfast, and is pretty sure he might actually die of embarrassment.

He moves in with a new family at the end of that year and he absolutely does not take either of them with him. Besides, he doesn't need them. He gets something much better with his new family. He gets Jack Zimmerman.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gets to know Jack Zimmerman. And then he _gets to know_ Jack Zimmerman. Or like, at least one piece of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously Jack is going to take up a lot more than one chapter. Here is the first. It just kind of happened. I'm really not sorry though. 
> 
> Comments, criticism, and corrections are all so very welcome. (But seriously, please, please tell me if you notice a mistake or hate something or whatever.) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bad Bob Zimmerman is probably Kent's favorite player ever, scratch that, probably his favorite person ever. You know that whole "if you could have lunch with anyone living or dead who would it be?" thing? Well if you'd asked him before he was 16, Kent probably would have said Bad Bob. So when he finds out he's going to be billeting with him and his family Kent can't help but feel a little faint. He doesn't give Alicia Zimmerman, famous and fantastic in her own right, more than a passing thought. He doesn't think of Jack Zimmerman at all. 

 

After he meets him he can hardly think of anything else. 

 

So like, the first thing Kent notices is that Jack is really pretty. Not like girl pretty or anything, no.  Pretty the way a sunset is pretty, the way a flower is pretty. With his ocean blue eyes and buttermilk skin and hair as sleek and shining as a just zambonied rink, Jack Zimmerman is the prettiest boy Kent has ever seen.  He fumbles his way through an introduction, but his tongue feels too big for his mouth and his teeth are numb and it takes him a couple seconds to remember his last name.  And Kent is relieved when Jack turns around to lead him up to his room.

 

And then Jack bends over to pick up one of Kent’s bags, because he’s a nice Canadian boy like that, and Kent only just manages to stay standing after the immediate rerouting of blood flow away from his extremities.  If Jack’s face is a sunset, then Jack’s ass is like the Lighthouse at Alexandria, or the Colossus of Rhodes—huge and imposing, and almost defying belief.  Kent wants to write poetry to that ass. He wants to get down on his knees and worship at the altar of that ass.  But first he needs to make his legs work again and follow Jack upstairs because it’s been about thirty seconds and Jack is standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him.

 

“What are you looking at?” he snaps. 

 

Jack huffs and stomps upstairs.  But he’s still carrying Kent’s stuff.  And he might be a little brusque, but he does show him where the linen closet is, and explains about the bathroom between their two bedrooms. 

 

Kent is sprawled out on his stomach on his bed, desperately trying to hide just how aroused he is.  And Jack is just standing there in the doorway prattling on about ‘what does he like for breakfast’ and ‘does he like to run in the mornings because Jack can show him some trails’ and ‘if there is anything else he needs well Jack is right there’.  But Kent is just watching Jack’s lips move and wondering if they’re soft, or if maybe they’re a little wind-chapped and how does Jack look so much more like a man at 17 than Kent does at 16 and—

 

“So what do you think?”

 

“Oh, uh. No? I don’t. I’m fine.”

 

Jack cocks an eyebrow at Kent, but he does finally leave, backing out of the door and closing it behind him.  Kent sighs, more than a little relieved, and rolls over onto his back.  He shoves his hand down his pants, and he’s coming practically before he gets started. 

 

“Like a goddamn twelve-year old, Kent. So fucking smooth,” he murmurs to himself as he slides off the bed and goes to wash his hands. 

 

Kent has not anticipated Jack Zimmerman.  It’s not that he’s never been attracted to someone before, even someone he’s going to play with, but there’s something about Jack that just completely shuts down his brain.  He resolves to ignore him until he can figure out just what to do with him. 

 

That goes really well. 

 

Not. 

 

Actually, it’s pretty fucking miserable.  Like, Jack is everywhere.  Jack is at the table for dinner.  And Jack is at school. And Jack is at the rink.  And Jack is in the bathroom showering, and Kent can hear it.  And Jack is like, literally, populating al of his dreams.  Kent has a kind of weird dream about going to his little sister’s birthday party, and like, Jack just shows the fuck up being all sweet and pretty and Canadian.  And he has flowers and treats his sister like a princess, and Kent is such a sucker for a nice boy, and he just knows that Jack would do exactly that. 

 

Kent has to buy lube three days in because his fucking dick is like, actually getting friction burns because he’s jacking off so much.  But what is he supposed to do? Jack is just walking around with his beautiful eyes, and his perfect lips and his wondrous ass.  And he keeps trying to talk to Kent, which is really not helping.  He offers to introduce Kent to his friends, and he just shows up for Kent’s runs.  And Kent gets o damn tongue tied that he can barely respond with more than fucking caveman grunts.  And it is just not fair. 

 

And Jack has a girlfriend.  She’s a pretty little pixie of a thing that hangs all over him at school, and sits in his lap on the couch at home, and stays for dinner practically every night.  And Kent can’t even bring himself to hate her because she’s also so damn sweet.  It’s like a Canadian sickness or something.  Everyone is so nice, and Kent just wants to scream and pull his hair out and make them all go away or at least shut up.  Well maybe not all of them.  Jack can stay, even if Kent has to fuck his throat to make him shut up. 

Not that Kent has ever actually done that to another person, but with a mouth like that it certainly looks like Jack would be good at it and a guy can dream right?  Yeah, a guy can dream about his straight like, basically foster brother who just wants to help him out. 

 

Things go on like this for a couple of weeks before things come to a head.  Kent has said two hundred and fifty four words to Jack in the 17 days that he’s lived with the Zimmermans.  And still his tongue might as well be lead in his mouth because now that he’s gotten used to how pretty Jack is (although, can you really “get used to” the sun?) well now he’s afraid he’ll like, proposition him or something every single time he opens his mouth.  So mostly he doesn’t. 

 

And Jack doesn’t question it.  He seems to be under the impression that Kent is just super shy or something, which like, just no.  But it kind of works out for Kent because at least Jack doesn’t _expect_ him to talk. 

 

And then Jack shows up outside Kent’s last class when they have an away game that weekend.  And Kent is just like, chattering away like he normally does with a couple of guys he’s become friendly with.  And Jack’s eyebrows go so far up into his hairline that they’ve basically disappeared into his fringe.  And then he starts to stew. 

 

They make it through the car ride, through the interminable dinner with Bad Bob and Alicia.  Jack’s parents are very excited for the game, and if they’re aware that something is going on, well they don’t mention it.  They make it all the way through the evening until Kent and Jack are finally forced to go to bed.  In their hotel room.  Alone together. 

 

Kent tries to commandeer the bathroom immediately and at least like brush his teeth and get in a good wank, but Jack is having none of it.  Kent is halfway through brushing his teeth when Jack knocks on the door and promptly opens it, cornering Kent in the small space.   Apparently even Canadians have a limit on politeness, Kent thinks a little wildly. 

 

“Whasth uff?” Kent mumbles through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

 

“Do you not like me?” 

 

Kent shrugs, then shakes his head, then reconsidering he says, “I lithke oo fium.” 

 

Jack glares at him. “Clearly you don’t.”

 

Kent shakes his head.  He’s forgotten all about brushing his teeth and his toothbrush is just hanging limply from his fingers, mouth full of foam. 

 

“Look.  I don’t know what your problem is.  I’ve tried to be nice.  I’ve tried to be helpful.  I’ve tried really hard, Kent, but you just won’t even speak to me.  I don’t know what you saw in my room, or if maybe Marie told you because she’s the only one who knows, but is it because I’m gay? Are you homophobic or something?”

 

“Wait, what? You’re gay?” Kent shouts, spraying toothpaste all over himself and the mirror and the floor. 

 

“Of course this would happen,” Jack groans. “I can’t believe this.  I’ll talk to maman.  Maybe I can stay with them tonight.” 

 

And with that, Jack turns and heads out of the bathroom.  Kent freezes for just an instant, but then finally, finally his legs seem to work about Jack.  He tosses his toothbrush at the sink, and then spits the rest of the toothpaste out after it, wiping his arm across his mouth as he strides out after Jack.  Jack has his hand on the doorknob and his pajamas under his arm before Kent catches up with him. 

 

“Look, Jack,” he says, grabbing at Jack’s elbow. “It’s not like that.” 

 

“Don’t touch me.” 

 

“No! Really it’s ok!” Kent stutters, tugging on Jack’s arm. 

 

And in a flash Jack’s pajamas are at his feet, and then Jack is bearing him down to the ground.  Kent lets out a cry out surprise, trying to figure out how exactly this all happened, and why exactly they’re fighting, but Jack is wrestling with him and he isn’t playing around.  Kent, however, has siblings, and Jack does not.  And within about a minute Kent has Jack pinned on his belly.  Kent has Jack’s arm wrenched up behind his back, and he’s got all his weight on his hips and then he realizes that he’s pressing against Jack’s ass, and he gets a little light-headed.  Of course he could try to explain away the lightheadedness as a side effect of his labored breathing because of the wrestling, but that would be at least half a lie.  Because mostly Kent is pinning the object of two and a half weeks’ worth of lust to the floor.  On his stomach. And Kent is also on his stomach.  And Jack’s ass is like, right there and he’s whimpering a little, and it’s probably because his shoulder hurts like a bitch the way Kent is holding him, but if he closes his eyes he can imagine it’s something else.  And Kent is unconsciously rolling his hips against Jack’s very plush backside, until Jack yells ‘Kent’. 

 

He freezes, his very hard, very obvious dick pressed right up against Jack’s ass.  But something about the way Jack says his name, or the way it feels, or the way all his muscles have clenched up in surprise sets Kent off.  And that is how Kent Parson has his first orgasm in the presence of another person.  Fully clothed.  After an actual physical fight.  Without actually trying to, and without even talking to the other person. 

 

Kent scrambles off of Jack, backing away in horror.  Jack turns over, looking confused, and, gratifyingly, a little flushed.  He’s giving Kent the eye until he catches sight of the wet spot on the front of Kent’s sweatpants, and the fairly obvious way Kent is still half hard. 

 

Too his credit he doesn’t laugh in Kent’s face.  It’s a near thing though. 

 

“ _Crisse,_ I’m guessing not homophobic then?” 

 

Kent just buries his face in his hands and tries to will away the hot prick of embarrassed tears he can’t seem to stop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to just discuss something here that was mentioned to me in the comments. I recognize that by some definitions what happens in this chapter could be construed as dubious consent. I made a conscious decision not to tag it as such. I believe that Kent's intentions and Jack's response do matter. It is certainly an uncomfortable, embarrassing, and in some ways shocking encounter, but it's also a teenage boy who has never been touched getting dragged into a wrestling match, and accidentally getting off on it. I don't believe that should be labeled as non or dub con. If anyone wants to discuss it with me further I'm always happy to do that here, or on tumblr where I'm mahons-ondine. Or if anyone wants more specific warnings sent to them in particular I would be glad to do that. I don't want to upset anyone, but I also want to be honest about what I believe is occurring.   
> Alright! Thanks for taking the time to read and comment, I really value the things you guys have to say and it does shape how I'm writing these characters.   
> You guys are the best!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations abound, but everyone seems just as confused as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. This fic was supposed to be funny! But it's really difficult to write funny teenage angst when there are serious mental health issues involved. So yeah, that's your warning. This is a bit derivative? I suppose. It's the same story, of course, but it's not silly.   
> Let me know what you guys would like to see. I can't decide if I should gloss over the rest of the Jack/Kent saga, and get back to humor/awkward angst, or if I should see it through.

“Kent!”

 

Kent groans in response, turning for the bathroom.  A shower, he thinks.  Being clean would be such a relief.  He can feel his ears burning, but before he can make it to the door Jack is there in a flash, crowding up against him.  He pulls Kent’s hands away from his face, and Kent can’t seem to muster up much fight.  He’s all fight, Kent is.  He started out little, and small and people have always underestimated him.  You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but Kent is a fighter.  Scrappy, sure, but he wins.  He just wrestled Jack Zimmerman into submission, and Jack’s got about four inches and twenty pounds on him.  But god, now he’s so ashamed, and guilty.  And gosh, he didn’t ask or like, get permission or something, you know?  He feels dirty. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out to Jack’s feet.  “I’m so, so sorry.  I know you have a girlfriend, and gosh even if you didn’t it’s like… look, I’m just sorry, alright?  I didn’t—”

 

“Stop.”

Kent freezes, peering up at Jack through his lashes.  The look on Jack’s face is difficult for Kent to unravel.  His eyes are fierce but his brow isn’t furrowed, and his mouth, those plush lips are soft and slightly parted.  And he can’t decide if he should be afraid that Jack is going to beat him up, or maybe kiss him.  Probably the former, Kent decides, shoulders hunching, gaze falling to the ground.  And he probably deserves it anyway.  He slumps, bowing his head, baring his neck as though to an executioner.  And then Jack’s hands do touch him.  He can’t help the flinch, but Jack’s touch is soft. 

“Shh.  It’s fine.  Just, stop it.  Come sit down. “ 

And Jack is leading Kent, stumbling over to the bed. 

“Look, Kent.  First, I don’t have a girlfriend—I don’t know where you got that idea.  I meant it when I said I was gay.  But it’s not contagious, you know? It won’t rub off on you.” 

Kent winces. 

“Oh, uh shoot.  I meant to say—“

And that’s all Jack can force out before he dissolves into giggles.  Kent stares.  He deserves to respond how he wants, Kent supposes, but does he have to be such a jerk.  It’s not.  It isn’t that funny.  It’s not! Kent crosses his arms, fury replacing embarrassment. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” he hisses. 

But Jack is lost somewhere in this hiccoughing laughter and he can’t seem to catch his breath or stop.  The giggles are rolling through him like waves.  As soon as it seems like the fit is over he just starts up again.  His drunken sounding giggles are grating on Kent’s last nerve.  

“Your face,” chokes Jack. “Oh god your face,” he says, pointing. 

“It’s not that funny,” Kent grits out, grabbing the hand that is pointing at him, taunting him, and yanking until Jack is practically sprawled in his lap instead of across the bed.  “It’s not funny, do you hear me?  I didn’t mean to—And it wasn’t on purpose.  It just sort of happened.  And look it was my first… whatever? Ok, so ha ha very funny.  Are you done now? Can I go? Because I didn’t stay so you could laugh at me.  And I apologized already.  But if you want to beat me up or something then fine, just don’t with this.  Just stop laughing, ok?”

Kent gulps in a lungful of air, trying to catch his breath.  And he realizes that Jack has, in fact, stopped laughing.  Instead he’s staring at Kent. 

“What?” Kent snaps. 

“You like me.”

“I don’t . . .”

But Kent trails off because Jack has righted himself and his stroking Kent’s cheek, running his thumb across and across and then down his nose, and down to tug at his bottom lip. 

“You do, you like me.  And that’s why you don’t talk to me?” 

Kent flushes, and Jack grins down at him. 

“Well why didn’t you just say so? Come on.” 

And Jack is tugging Kent forward and kissing him and kissing him.  And it’s so much better than the first time he tried to kiss someone.  It’s so much better than any spin-the-bottle kiss he had with a girl, or the time he kissed a boy on his old team so that they could ‘practice’.  Except the other boy really was practicing and Kent wasn’t.  And even that was nothing like this because Jack’s mouth is hot and soft against his.  His lips are chapped, just like Kent thought, but it’s nice.  Even that little scrape is nice, and at some point he straddled Kent’s lap so he’s pressed right up against him. It makes Kent’s head swim.  It makes him dizzy and a little terrified, and then Jack tilts his head and teases Kent’s mouth open with his tongue and Kent is pretty sure he’s going to faint.  He’s so turned on he’s like, actually shaking. 

“Wait.  Wait,” Kent groans, wrenching his lips away from Jack’s.  “What are we doing?”

“Kissing. Nous sommes en train de frencher,” Jack purrs, climbing off Kent’s lap and sprawling out on the bed. 

“I don’t understand.” 

Jack grins, lazily waving him closer. “Viens-ici.” 

Kent crawls over until he’s hovering above Jack.  “I’m here,”  he murmurs. 

“Donne-moi un baiser.” 

And that one Kent knows.  He swings a leg over Jack and leans down to cover him, pressing hips to hips and chest to chest, and finally lips to lips.  And Jack sighs up into the kiss, and for a moment it’s so sweet and slow and lovely that Kent almost cries from relief because this is what he wanted.  Because he wanted someone to touch his dick, yeah, obviously that too.  But like, you know in the movies how people kiss for the first time and the music swells up and fills the silence?  How the camera focuses in and in and in until it’s just lips and tongue and sweetness?  Well Kent thought it was just a movie thing, you know? Like a girl thing maybe.  Not for boys.  Not for him.  But for a minute it does feel that way.  His heart swoops the way the music does and everything fades away until it’s just lips and tongue and sweetness and somehow the kiss fills up all the space inside Kent that has been reserved for quiet aches and secret fears.  And just a minute he feels so full to bursting that he can barely contain himself. 

And then Jack is thrusting his hips up against him, and Kent can feel the hard line of his cock against Kent’s and well that’s pretty much that.  A kiss might be able to crowd out long held pains, but Kent is a sixteen year old boy, and he’s only human.  He can’t be expected to keep his head when he finally, finally is kind-of touching a dick.  So Kent loses his head a little bit, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind because he seems to be pretty enthusiastic about the whole thing  if the moans and the clutching hands and the rather intimidating erection are anything to go by.  So Kent figures it’s pretty ok to be a little lost, and lets himself go.

It doesn’t last long.  Kent didn’t really expect it to, even if it is the third time he’s come that day.  At least he manages to get Jack off first.  He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, or what he’s allowed to do or supposed to do, and well he’s already kind of taken without asking once that night, so he doesn’t want to really initiate anything.  But Jack is rolling his hips against him, and Kent is clumsily stroking his sides underneath his tee-shirt when Kent feels his orgasm sneaking up on him.  So he desperately presses a few haphazard kisses against Jack’s neck and ear and just asks.  Like at least he can ask what to do right?  But apparently that’s enough because as soon as Kent whispers into Jack’s ear ‘Please, I want to make you come. What should I—‘  Jack is shuddering in Kent’s arms.  And it’s hot,  but also a little funny, and Kent is trying to puzzle out whether or not he looks funny when he orgasms, but then his orgasm hits him like a freight train, and that thought it completely obliterated. 

It is so much better than the first time.  It is miles and miles better and a whole lot less guilt inducing.  And the aftermath is better too.  There are lazy kisses and then they’re shucking off their pants and underwear and pulling on pajamas.  And then there’s sleep.  And it’s good, restful, wet dream free sleep, and Kent is relieved. 

He’s a little disappointed when Jack retreats to the other bed, but it’s ok.  It’s new and Kent isn’t really sure how to sleep with another person anyway.  Besides, Jack gives him this searing kiss just before he tucks into the other bed that leaves him hot and buzzing.

In the morning it’s almost like nothing happened.  Jack gets up and cajoles Kent into going for a run with him.  Then there’s breakfast in the hotel.  Eggs, of course, Jack has a thing with protein.  And then they’re getting changed and heading off to the rink. 

Kent tries to stop Jack and talk to him before they go, but he rushes to pull a pill bottle out of his bag.  Advil, Jack says.  Maybe it’s a headache, Kent thinks.  Maybe that’s why Jack is acting so strange.  And Kent is about to lean in and press a kiss to Jack’s forehead, but Jack flinches, he thinks, and then claps him on the shoulder and pulls him in for this sort of manly hug.

“I had fun last night.  We should do it again sometime, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Kent parrots back. 

“Fantastique!” Jack crows, winking at Kent and strutting out the door.

Kent can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees Jack’s shoulders slump as he rounds the door.  And when he sighs, it seems to echo back to him from the hallway. 

But he can’t be sure.  He just can’t be sure.  And he finds that in spite of the evening they’ve had.  In spite of the kisses and the orgasms and secrets bared, Kent doesn’t know how to talk to Jack any more than he did the day before.  Only now it’s not Jack’s incredible ass that seems to be keeping them apart.  It’s Jack himself. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent tries a new tactic. And it's an unmitigated disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I have decided that for now I'm going to continue with this story and move forward. I'm not going to write every excruciatingly painful detail of Kent and Jack's relationship here. At some point I would like to write a side piece set in this universe, but I think I'd like to finish this first. 
> 
> So, enjoy! Here's a heaping pile of angst and awkwardness for you!

Jack wants to keep their relationship or friendship or whatever it is quiet, and Kent is pretty ok with it. Well, he's ok with doing what Jack wants, at least. He's not like _happy_ about it because he's never exactly tried to hide how he feels, it just sort of is. But Jack has his reasons, and Jack is always getting hounded by the media. And Jack is well... Jack, and Kent feels so lucky that Jack is with him that he’s willing to do a lot of things. He's not really sure how a gawky, freckled nerd like him managed to get beautiful Jack Zimmermann to like him. Actually, he's pretty sure sometimes that Jack is only with him because _Kent_ asked and _Kent_ made the first move and _Kent_ is right fucking there. So yeah, Jack doesn't want anyone to know. And Kent is ok with it because it means he gets to keep Jack. And he's mostly sure that Jack isn't embarrassed to be with him. He's mostly sure that Jack wouldn't come out for anyone. Will never come out for anyone.  At least not so long as he’s still playing hockey. 

 

But it's ok. Jack knows. And Kent knows. And Jack's fake girlfriend Marie knows. And it isn't really a problem. They play together, go to school together, sleep together. It's pretty lovely most of the time. There's not really any reason he can think of as to why he needs to come out. 

 

And then in the Spring of their Senior year he finds one. Or rather it finds him. In the form of a leggy blonde cheerleader named Ashley. 

 

So look, Kent has always been scrawny and short.  He started high school at a mere 5'2". And he has always, always been the shortest one on his team. Any team. Every team. But Senior year hit him like a ton of bricks and must have flattened him out somehow, because while he starts the year at a mere 5'5", he shoots up five inches by the time April hits.  And the combination of that and the early morning workouts with Jack, and the sheer volume of protein Bob and Alicia seem to cook with, well let's just say it leaves him considerably less scrawny. The freckles can't be helped, but his ass almost rivals Jack's, that seems to balance things out. Kent can't help but swagger with it. 

 

And people have noticed. Jack noticed immediately. Before Kent even recognized what was happening Jack knew. He likes the muscles, but Kent doesn't think he likes the swagger. He doesn't understand, not really. Sure, Jack was a kind-of adorably chubby kid, but he hit puberty and Kent is pretty sure Jack just rose up out of bed one morning like the goddamn _Birth of Venus_ and was just perfect. So, yeah. Kent thinks he deserves a little bit of swaggering. He earned it during his awkward early teen years. 

 

But Jack isn't the only one who notices. Lots of girls have noticed. Even a couple of boys. And Kent doesn't mind. He likes the attention. It's nice to be noticed, he thinks. It's nice to be wanted. To be openly wanted. It's nice right up until Ashley asks him to prom.  And then not so much with the nice. 

 

Actually, even that starts off ok.  Ashley’s sweet, and friendly and popular.  Kent smiles at her when she calls out to him in the hallway.  In hindsight, Kent thinks, maybe that was his first mistake.

 

"Hey Kent!"

 

"Hi, uh..."

 

"Ashley!" 

 

"Right. Of course. So--"

 

"Look, I wanted to ask you, do you maybe want to be my date for prom?"

 

"What? Uh. Thank you. I think you're great it's just--"

 

And then she leans in, whispering soft and low in his ear. "We can just go as friends, if you want. _Very good friends.._." 

 

Ashley is very close, and her perfume is kinda pretty but so strong it’s making him a little nauseous.  And he might be a little freaked out.  So yeah, Kent is frozen still which she must take for approval. So she presses her lips to the delicate skin beneath his ear, and that’s when he finally jerks into action and grasping her shoulders and pushing her back. And he knows, he knows that he should just tell her.  He’s panting and nervous and shaking, but it must look like something else because she falls back, leaning into the lockers and grinning up at him. 

 

"Sensitive are you? I can work with that." 

 

Kent flushes, which only seems to make her giggle harder. And for a few seconds his tongue won't work. But his brain is just chanting 'tell her. tell her. tell her." So he does. 

 

"No. It's just--I'm gay."

 

And her face changes. 

 

"Oh, so you're one of those," she sneers. 

 

Kent blanches. She seems like the kind of person who would be ok with it.  And he hasn’t really experienced a lot of homophobia.  People ragging on each other in hockey, yeah, but he’s never had any sort of that hate directed straight at him.  And it feels like his throat is closing up, and he might be choking, and oh god he’s going to die right fucking here, just like this. 

 

"I.. I..." he croaks out.

 

"No. Don't bother trying to explain yourself, Kent Parson. I know boys like you. Too proud to let a woman be in charge. Can't stand the woman taking the initiative." 

 

"Wait, what--" 

 

"You disgust me Kent Parson." 

 

And then she's gone, heels clicking on the tile, long blonde hair swishing around the corner. Kent just stares, trying to catch his breath, and slow the hummingbird-beat of his heart.  He's pretty sure he's supposed to go after her, but he doesn’t know what to say.   He isn't actually sure how much more clear he can be than 'I'm gay.' And now he doesn’t know if he’s even ready to say those words again at all.  So he goes home, and he kisses Jack, and kisses Jack, and sucks him off, and then kisses him again.  He keeps his mouth so busy it can’t even try to form the words. 

 

He dreams about them instead.

 

By the next morning it seems like half the girls in the school hate him. He gets glared at in the hallways, ignored in the cafeteria, and scoffed at whenever he tries to talk in class.

 

Some of the boys seem to think he's pretty cool, actually, because apparently Ashley wasn't kidding about 'boys like him'. Except they're not like him. Not really. And he knows it.  Feels it, maybe for the very first time.  They don't wanna date girls with any fight, any fire in them. Kent doesn't want to date any girls at all, but if he did? He's pretty sure it would be one with a _lot_ of fight. One who wasn't afraid. Like Jack, he thinks. Strong, like Jack. Jack, who is never afraid to get checked.  Who is never afraid of pain.  Who is never seems afraid of what people think about him, on or off the ice.  Someone just like Jack, he thinks. 

 

Eventually Jack asks him why pretty much half the Senior class is giving him death glares on a daily basis. It’s May before Jack notices, and in the meantime it had spread like a disease, this Kent-hate. But when he asks, well he isn't very happy with Kent's answer. 

 

" _Tabarnak. Criss, Kent.  Maudit sans dessein.”_

Kent shrinks back. 

 

“No, no actually, this is fine. She didn't believe you, right? Criss! What were you thinking?" 

 

"I just... She's nice to me. I didn't want to lie. Anyway, I don't understand what the problem is." 

 

Jack cuts him off with a hollow little laugh that sends shivers down Kent's spine.

 

"Of course you don't." 

 

And Jack walks away. Kent tries to grab his arm to stop him, and Jack just shakes him off. 

 

And then he's gone. 

 

Oh, he comes back eventually, and there's kissing and fucking. But mostly there's hockey. And in between hockey and school and Jack begging Kent to pound him into the bed from behind, well there isn't much time for talking. 

 

After the draft, Kent thinks, after the draft we will finally have time to really talk. 

 

But it doesn't come. And Kent can't help thinking that it's entirely his fault. 

 

Because Jack goes to the hospital. And Kent goes first in the draft. And nothing, nothing was the same after Kent said two little words. Six little letters. To someone who didn't even believe him. And if he'd just kept his mouth shut things might have been different. 

 

So Kent skips prom. He goes to Las Vegas. And he vows never to say those hateful words again. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things change. But not really for Kent Parson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I can't believe how many of you are reading this. It's pretty thrilling for me, and hope this is a welcome addition. 
> 
> I am sorry it took so long. I'm dealing with a lot of personal things at the moment (my father got remarried, dealing with a breakup of my own, and I have to move soon, plus heaps of work, etc. etc.). Sometimes writing is the best therapy for stress. And sometimes just rewatching all of Xena works a little better for me! So, I apologize for the delays. Can't promise there won't be more delays. But I can promise there will be more angst and ridiculousness!

 

It's a little bit difficult for Kent to say he's gay without, you know, saying he's gay. So yeah he doesn't exactly come out to anyone for a while. At least, well, he doesn't come out to anyone who knows who he is. 

 

See, Las Vegas isn't really a Hockey city. People barely know the Aces exist, and nobody is like a really big fan or anything.  They do ok. Las Vegas is a party city, and their games are certainly well attended.  But there aren't a lot of people clamoring for a Kent Parson jersey.

 

Every once in a while he'll get someone tilting their head and staring at him as if they're trying to figure out where they've seen him before.  Mostly they ask if he's a backup dancer.  He tells them no, no, he's just a tourist, and aren't they going to get on with sucking his cock. Sometimes they ask if he's a stripper once they get him naked. He tells those guys no, too, but he does it with a wink and a shimmy and most of them don't believe him. 

 

Once he's in a sports bar (yes, they have gay sports bars)and he gets asked if he's "that hockey guy? You know the one who tried to kill his friend to get his spot?"  He doesn't go back there.  More because they banned him for breaking that dick's nose than anything else though. Because honestly? For a second--for that one second between hockey guy and killer--he'd felt almost high. He'd been known. He hadn't been just an anonymous dick. An anonymous mouth.  A stripper, a dancer, a liar. He had been Kent Parson. Or at least he had been that hockey guy. That hockey guy, and that gay guy. And both pieces of him that he had tried so very hard to keep apart, had been in the same place. For the first time since Jack. 

 

It had been two years 11 months and 7 days since Jack.  And Kent felt, for just a minute, like he wasn't drowning. 

 

See, he hasn't known he had been drowning. He hadn't known until the weight lifted from his chest just how heavy it had been.  But it did lift. And he did breathe. And every minute afterwards is full of that burning ache where air should be, but isn't.  Where Jack should be, but isn't.  Because at the end of the day, well it's always been about Jack, hasn't it? Maybe that's wrong and a little confused. And maybe Kent should just get over Jack and get a real boyfriend instead of these anonymous one night stands that make him feel so invisible.  But Jack is the only person who has ever known all of what Kent was, and that feels too important to let go of. 

 

Look, he's not pining or anything.  He's not crying himself to sleep over stupid, selfish, goody two shoes Jack-fucking-Zimmermann.  And it's pretty clear from the little bit of press that Jack has had that he isn't pining away for Kent either.  Well, that and the fact that Jack hasn't spoken to him. Hasn't returned his calls, wouldn't let him visit him in the hospital, got rid of his old email address so that one day Kent emails started bouncing back at him like a fist saying "mailer daemon".  So, he's not pining, he's not, but it feels so unfinished that he can't get it out of his head. 

 

So, he decides to be a little bit reckless. He won't come out, exactly, he'll just be out, you know? He just won't say anything, and he'll just be who he is. 

 

And it happens quickly. He goes to a gay bar, and he goes through the front door.  And yeah, he gets photographed, cause Vegas might not be a hockey city, but the papa aren't idiots. 

 

And when he gets asked about it at the next press conference he just says he went for the usual reasons. 'Only a couple of reasons you go there, right?' And he winks. And he goes home satisfied.  That should do it. That's perfect. 

 

And when the article comes out there's a whole paragraph on how great the burgers are at that particular bar, and isn't Kent such a chill guy to be going to a gay bar in search of the perfect burger and won't his nutritionists be so disappointed. And Kent can't quite believe his eyes. 

 

So the next time there's a pride parade he marches in it. He's got rainbows on his fingernails and a tee shirt proclaiming 'love is love'. And he makes sure he's in pictures. Makes sure to grin and dance and party with the best of them.  

 

And Out magazine has an article all about how to be a great ally, and he gets a feature. Because he's involved in "You can play".  And his lesbian sister is quoted saying that he is such an amazing, and supportive brother--that he always has been ever since he went to their high school GSA group. 

 

And like, that's gear and all, you know? But he can't believe that old story is still getting told.  That no one has ever gone--huh, wow that Kent Parson sure likes to spend time with dudes who like dudes.  But he didn't exactly _say_ anything. 

 

Next time. Next time, he thinks, I will make it unambiguous. 

 

So when he takes his mom as his date to a big team function, and the reporters coo over what a sweet mama's boy he is since he is bringing his mom as his date instead of his girlfriend, well he tells them the truth.

 

"My mom is the best date ever!  But don't worry—I haven't got a girlfriend waiting at home. Actually, I've never had a girlfriend.” 

 

“Do you hear that, ladies?  Kent Parson is single! And what a good boy he is!  So, Kent, where should our lovely viewers apply if she’s looking to be your very first girlfriend?”

And Kent laughs because, honestly? How could he not.

 

“Not really what I’m looking for, actually.  I’m…”

 

And he freezes, embarrassed, and afraid, and even though it’s been nearly four years he feels all of 17 again.  And he wants to be brave.  He does.  He wants to just say that he’s gay.  Say that it’s not a big deal, and he’s just a person who loves other people who just also happen to be men.  And yeah, it didn’t go well the last time, but it’s not the same situation.  He’s not going to offend some reporter.  He’s not going to upset them or anything.  They don’t really care about his life except that it’s a great story.  And so he takes a breath, slow and long, forcing the air out through his nose.

 

And then he sees Jack’s face instead.  The way he had looked so hunted, so frightened under the anger.  The way he had gotten paler, and quieter for weeks until he seemed to just fade right away.  The way his fingers had been like ice, his pulse sluggish.  The way he’d lain in the bath, slumped over the edge, vomit pooling on the floor.  How blue his lips had been.  How soft his heartbeat.  And Kent chokes, and coughs, and tears are pouring down his face, and he’s not sure if it’s because he can’t breathe, or because he can remember so vividly what it felt like to have Jack not breathing in his arms.  And he remembers that there is a good reason that he’s never said the words more than once.  And even if Kent is furious with Jack, and he is, well he couldn’t live through that again.  And maybe he might actually kill Jack this time.  And he couldn’t stand himself if he did.  

 

So, when he finally catches his breath, and wipes away the tears, he straightens up, and puts an arm around his mother’s shoulders, and he tells them nothing at all.   

 

“Sorry! Been fighting a bit of a cold!” he explains, shooting them a wide grin.

 

His mother cocks an eyebrow at him, but he ignores her, and plows onwards. 

 

“Anyway! As I was saying, well, I’m not looking for a girlfriend.  I’m… I’m looking for something a little different.” 

 

And he winks.  And he leads his mother away.  And he keeps a smile plastered on his face through the whole evening.  Through socializing.  Through dinner.  Through his mother’s soft promises that she is there for him if he needs to talk.  If he needs to tell her anything.  That she’ll love him no matter what.  And she’s so sweet, and so understanding that he can’t even stand it.  Because she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how he almost killed someone he loved by being so selfish.  And she wouldn’t understand. 

 

The next morning the paper talks about his cold, and his presumed virginity, and his search for a _wife_ and not a _girlfriend._   And it’s exactly what he didn’t want only 24 hours before.  But now?  Now he’s relieved.

 

He gets a text from a blocked number a couple of hours later. 

 

“Don’t be a dick, Parse. They’d kill you in the press.  I saw what you were doing, and you got lucky.  But you won’t always be so lucky.  Next time they might figure it out.” 

 

And he knows he did the right thing.  Knows that Jack knows what he had planned to do. Knows that Jack still doesn’t approve.  That he only ever could have made the choice he did. 

 

But at least Jack is ok.  And he texted.  And maybe, maybe if he’s on his best behavior, he’ll make it up to him someday. 

 

 

 


	7. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent finally gets a little of his back. Well, mostly he just gets some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I hit 100 subscribers with this last update, and I thought that we all deserved a little celebration. Kent most of all. So I wrote a little bit of porn for us all! This is seriously NSFW, decidedly kinky, and I think a lot of fun, but be forewarned if those are not your things. If you need to know anything to understand the next update I'll outline it in the notes for those of you who decide to skip this bit. 
> 
> Also, I'm working on a piece of original fiction I want to submit right now. It's due at the end of the month, and I probably won't update again for at least a week. So I hope this helps tide you all over! Enjoy!
> 
> (Also, this chapter is dedicated to sevenimpossiblethings / consultingreaders . Thanks for the idea! <3)

It's not all bad, this being in the closet thing. Kent is pretty happy with a couple of the perks even if it's altogether a net negative. Like, for example--the reporters mostly only ask about hockey. And that's pretty nice, cause well, you know...Kent really likes hockey. I mean that's probably pretty obvious, but like, he's seen how they treat sports players with like divorces, or drug problems, or like any other kind of problem.  It sort of overshadows the sport, and yeah, he would rather talk about hockey, you know? So that makes him glad. And then also he's pretty sure he would have to take his gloves off a lot more if people knew he actually _was_ a fucking cocksucker, and they weren't just calling him one on the ice because it is the worst insult they can think of. 

 

So yeah. He gets to talk more about hockey. He gets to play a lot more hockey probably, since like, he already fights a ton, and he doesn't exactly need yet another reason to throw down. And there are other things too.  He's kind of a mysterious figure because of his whole 'I don't date' thing. And it actually makes him pretty popular. He gets mobbed by crazy chicks in his Jersey on the reg now. And he fucking loves the attention. Like, look, he mostly just wanted to play hockey, you know? But he's pretty happy if he can play hockey and also get cool celebrity perks like being asked to play celebrity jeopardy or be a guest judge on Project Runway. Apparently his sense of personal style is like way cool and he's kind of a style icon. Kent always thought so, but it's a nice thing to hear.  And it only stings a little when Isaac Mizrahi tells him he's one of the most fabulous straight men he knows. 

 

So like, all in all? It's pretty cool to have a big vocal female fanbase.  That's not to say he doesn't have a big male fanbase too--he does--they just mostly seem to like him for only his hockey, and not his gorgeous bod too. Or at least he thinks so until he goes back to his favorite gay bar--the one with the supposedly great burgers--and decides he might as well eat there for once.  

 

So he orders a burger, right? And it comes to him at the bar, and it's huge and juicy and amazing. And he's just tearing into it, totally unselfconsciously, groaning with pleasure, and tongue darting out to lap up the juices dripping down the inside of his arm. It's practically pornographic apparently, because he looks up at one point, and this guy from down the bar has slid into the seat next to him. He gestures for the bartender to refill both of their glasses and grins at Kent kind of lasciviously. Kent smiles back shyly. Cause look, like Kent is so not a shy kind of person, but this guy is super built and so hot and like, just his kind of type.  He swallows down his massive bite of the burger, but before he can say anything the guy leans in and whispers in his ear. 

 

"I see you really like your meat. Have you ever thought about coming here for a different kind of meat, Parse?"

 

And Kent gapes, and then quickly chugs about half of his beer to cover up his stunned expression. 

 

"I know that's not normally what you go for, Mr. I'm-looking-a-wife, but boy have you got the mouth on you for it," he purrs. 

 

"I...I don't come here for the burgers?" Kent squeaks out, blushing at just how ridiculous he sounds. 

 

The other guy cocks his head, eyeing Kent's half eaten burger. Kent buries his face in his hands, taking a deep breath. He thought he had gotten over this bullshit. He's a grown up now, not a fucking 16 year old kid, but it doesn't really make a difference. But like, whatever, the guy is still there, and he's super, super hot so yeah Kent can totally do this. 

 

"Um, look, I'm not..." 

 

"Naw man, I get it. You're not gay. I just thought you might be curious, you know? And I _really_ love leading you pretty straight boys down the road to bicurious, yeah? So if you're into it..."

 

And Kent makes a snap decision--yeah maybe it's a lie, but like come on. The guy is into it. He wants Kent to be new to this whole thing, and Kent is totally ok with that role.  So he jumps at the chance. 

 

"No! No, I mean I'm into it. Just--"

 

And the guy grins, and leans in to whisper in his ear, hot breath caressing the delicate flesh and making him shudder. 

 

"Shh sweetheart. Let me take care of you. You're gonna love it.  You don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with. But you should really let me suck you.  You'll like it. I promise.  And a man is totally different from a woman. You can really fuck my face. I can take it. You know, if you think you might like that?"

 

"Yes," Kent gasps. "Please, come on." 

 

Kent pulls out his wallet and throws down a few bills, jumping to his feet and pulling the other man after him. They make it far as the alley in back before Kent is shoving him into a wall and attacking his mouth.  The other man sags against him, huge hands resting lightly on Kent's hips. 

 

"Like it a little rough?" He gasps out as Kent alternates between pressing open-mouthed kisses to his jaw, and biting at his lips. 

 

"Yes," groans Kent. And then freezing mid kiss "is that alright?" 

 

"Fuck yes. It's all good. I want to be good for you. Show you what you're missing."

 

Kent grins, kicking the other man's feet apart so that he sinks down, plastered against the wall.  He's looking up at Kent like he hung the moon, and Kent is practically giddy.  He straddles the other man's beefy thigh, and ruts against him slow and steady so that he can know just what his submission is doing to Kent. 

 

"Fuck you're huge," he gasps. 

 

Kent shrugs, but he can't quite keep the cocky grin off his face. He knows he is particularly well-endowed, and he has certainly been told in exactly detail just how amazing it is.  But it never does get old to hear them babble. 

 

"Oh god, it's amazing," he pants. "So big. And you're so hard. See? I told you I could be good. I told you. And I didn't even know. And your cock. Oh man, Kent. Kent." 

 

"Mm?" Kent bites down the other man's neck leaving vivid pink bruises in his wake. 

 

"Please? I want. I know I said...but I didn't know. I .. Fuck I want your cock inside me." 

 

And Kent yanks back his pelvis and freezes, breathing in the hot earth smell of the other man's skin. 

 

"It's alright. Maybe next time," the other man whispers. "You don't need to be afraid." 

 

Kent jerks his head up, ready to tell him how wrong he is. Ready to tell him that he didn't freeze out of fear.  That it's just that hearing those words out of the other man's mouth may have actually been hotter than having sex with most of the people he's fucked. He wants to tell him that if he was scared at all it was that he was afraid of coming in his pants like a teenager.  That far from being frightened, Kent is practically salivating over the idea of taking this big buff man. Of fucking him hard and wet and making him beg for Kent's cock. Because next to him, professional sports player or not, Kent looks tiny, but he has never felt more powerful. But that's all a little embarrassing so he just swallows and echoes the other man's words. 

 

"Next time."

 

And the other man is boneless against the wall, slipping further and further.  Kent tries to prop him up, but he just looks up at Kent with these big serious eyes and he pleads. 

 

"Let me make it good for you? Let me taste you? Please, I want to. I want to." 

 

And Kent can't say no. He would. Normally he likes to take a lot more time with someone. He likes to tease out their pleasure, make sure they come at least once, sometimes more, before he takes his pleasure at all. But this big hulk of a man is so earnest, begs so prettily, looks so needy. And he can't. He can't say no. Besides, if the state of the other man's pants is anything to go by, well, he's at least as enthusiastic about sucking Kent's cock as Kent is about having it sucked.  So yeah, Kent just nods, stepping back a bit, so that the larger man can fall to his knees and attack Kent's zipper with an enthusiasm that Kent has never before been the product of. 

 

And yeah, it's pretty great. But it's even better once Kent feels his mouth on him. It's been a while, a couple of months at least, since he's slept with another man. And that was just some wet kisses and an exchange of handjobs in some club bathroom. This though is luxurious.  

 

The other man is gagging himself on Kent's cock, no practically about it. He just opens his mouth and swallows Kent right down. And fuck if it's not the hottest thing Kent has seen in years. He slides his fingers through the man's hair, grasping his curls and tugging his head away, and the whine he lets out is like  kick to the gut for Kent. Somehow he holds firm, though, and keeps a tight grip on the man's hair until he stops struggling, and just stares up at Kent plaintively. 

 

"That's nice, and all," Kent murmurs hoarsely. "But I thought I got to be in charge, or is that not how we're playing this, hmm?" 

 

Blushing, the other man opens his mouth wide in obvious invitation.

 

"Good boy," Kent says as he thrusts shallowly into the man's mouth. 

 

The other man is trembling beneath his fingers now. 

 

"Good boy," he repeats. 

 

And the other man closes his eyes, opens his mouth a little wider, and lets Kent fuck his throat. And oh it's bliss. To have this powerful man at his feet. To watch the bulge is his throat disappear and reappear as Kent bucks into him mercilessly.  To see the other man gripping his own thighs in an effort to keep them off his straining cock. And Kent knows he can't last long, not like this, not after months of celibacy.  But he isn't quite ready for it to be over. So he presses in deep, and stops, groaning at the way the other man's throat is spasming around his cock, at the tears pouring out of his eyes, the way he starts to shake after a few seconds with the effort not to pull away.  But he doesn't, he doesn't pull away, and Kent is impressed, and a little awed, and so goddamned turned on. 

 

And then he pulls out and watches the other man choke down air, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, until he opens his eyes and gazes up at Kent. 

 

"Fuck. You're so good for me," he says stroking the other man's skull. 

 

And he leans into Kent's hand like a cat. 

 

"Do you want to come?" 

 

"Please," the other man manages to croak. 

 

"Alright. Yes, alright. You can touch yourself, but only through your pants.  And you can't come until I do. Is that alright?" 

 

"Mm..." 

 

And Kent groans.  The other man is so far gone, and he can't tell if he really understands. 

 

"Fuck, listen," he bites out, wrenching the man's head back until he's staring up at Kent a little more clear-eyed.  "I asked you a question and I want a verbal answer.  I am going to fuck your throat until I come. And while I do it you are going to touch your cock through your jeans. And after I come you're allowed to as well. In your pants. Now is that going to be ok?" 

 

"Yes. Perfect," he whispers.

 

And Kent is thrusting into his mouth almost before he's finished speaking.  And within only a couple of thrusts Kent is coming. He's coming and coming. And the other man is groaning, and coughing, and a little of Kent's come is dropping out of his mouth into the hand that is furiously rubbing away at his own cock. And he's still rubbing away, straining against his hand when Kent is done, and Kent's a little embarrassed at how quickly he finished, how desperately he needed to come.  But he's good on the fly--he knows how to fix a play when something doesn't go as expected. So he hauls the other man to his feet, and licks his own come off of the other man's face, and shoves the other man's hand off of his cock, replacing it with his own. And it's only a few seconds before he's crying out and shuddering against Kent, his cock spurting wetly into his pants. 

 

"God that's so hot," Kent moans against the man's cheek, lips smearing his come across the other man's skin. 

 

The other man chuckles weakly, and slumps against Kent. And so Kent strokes his back with his cleaner hand until the other man has stopped shuddering and straightens up. 

 

"You've done that before," he chokes out, eyes filled with mirth. 

 

"Well, I did try to tell you..." 

 

"Yeah. No worries. It was amazing anyway. I'd love to do it again." 

 

Kent grins. "Yeah. I think--yeah I would really like that." 

 

The other man fumbles around in his pockets before triumphantly producing a little notebook and a pen. He jots something down, and tears off the sheet. He folds it into quarters before pressing it into Kent's hand, and curling Kent's fingers around it. 

 

"You're alright, Kent Parson," he says. 

 

And then he's pressing a kiss to Kent's cheek and walking away without a backward glance.  

 

Kent opens the note.  And stares down at the untidy scrawl. It says: 

 

'702-664-2391

Until next time. 

\--Brian' 

 

Yeah, Kent thinks, yeah I think I might be alright. 

 

And he goes home with an irrepressible grin on his face.  And for once it's not smug, it's just...pleased.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent goes to Epikegster, and finally gets a clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are approaching a very different end to this story than I had predicted when I started. I imagine maybe three more chapters? But don't hold me to that! 
> 
> Anyway, if you're still reading, thanks for sticking around. I know you guys came for humor, and mostly got angst, but I hope it's been worth it nonetheless. 
> 
> Also, if you skipped last chapter--Kent met a guy in the bar with the really great burgers, and hooked up with him. Also the guy had a bit of a thing for "curious straight boys" which is what he firmly believed Kent was until he slept with him. Not much more plot to it than that. 
> 
> So without further ado--Angstfest: Christmas 2014.

It takes seeing Jack again for Kent to realize just how far gone he is.  How deeply it’s hurting him to lie to everyone.  And all it takes is one look at beautiful, hateful, Jack Zimmermann’s face for him to finally take the blinders off and see.  Yeah he’s seen him before, well if you can call it that. He’d seen him through a window at least.  Heard the cursing, the spluttering rage.  And then the silence.  Eventually Jack’s buddy—the naked one—whatever his name is, came out and shooed him away.  He was apologetic, yeah, but it hurt.  And by the time he’d gotten home it seemed that the quiet followed him.  Stanley Cup celebrations last a long time, you see, but not longer than multiple flights, long drives, and an overnight stay in a hotel to avoid total collapse.  So this time, this time he’s glad that there’s a party because at least he gets in the door.  And gets to see his face up close. 

In truth, it’s a little bit more than just his face though.  It’s the context.  It’s the look.  The longing.  And Kent honestly can’t believe how pathetic he is for having driven down just to get a look at Zimms, and maybe a word or two if he’s lucky. 

In the end he gets rather more than he’s bargained for.  He gets to watch the awkward flirting, the flush creeping up Jack’s neck.  How Jack’s eyes seem to glow as he gazes at the small blond boy, really a less cute version of Kent, if he’s being honest.  But when Jack looks at him, and the shutters come down, and the light goes out of his eyes, well Kent is pretty sure he’d trade anything he has to be that dumb college kid. 

So Jack takes one look at Kent, right, and he’s out of there.  He just totally ghosts.  And look, like, Kent really does try to follow him, but there are people everywhere.  And they all want to talk to him, to take pictures with him, to get autographs and all that crap.  And Kent is generally a pretty laid back dude with fans, but like, come on.  The crush is intense, and he’s lost sight of Jack, and he kinda has a game tomorrow, and he really needs a drink.  And then he needs to find Jack.

The drink, at least, just sort of materializes.  He backs into the kitchen, glances out the door, and when he turns around this entire game of flip cup has popped into existence. 

“Wanna play?” croons the tiny Asian chick who is apparently going to be his savior for the day. 

“Sure thing.  Want a head start sweetheart?”

She scoffs at him, and before he can finish his first beer she’s chugged and flipped all three. 

Kent lowers his cup, and stares.  And yeah, okay, Kent can kind of be an ass sometimes, but he knows when he’s beat.  And honestly? He doesn’t mind.  He’s always been pretty happy with second place when he had a worthy competitor. 

“That was amazing.” 

And she smirks, and gives him a fist bump, and then she’s gone.  So Kent finishes his beers and heads upstairs.  Upstairs to Jack.  Upstairs to beg Zimms to at least play with him again.  And Jack has left his door wide open. He’s just sitting on his bed waiting for Kent, and if Kent notices the hunted look in his eyes, well, he forgets it almost as quickly. 

It’s difficult, Kent thinks, as he stands there staring at Jack, it’s difficult to breathe with him in the room.  Jack’s presence just expands to fill the space, and it kills Kent more than a little that Jack doesn’t even know.  And so Kent tries to tell him.  He does. 

He tells him that he cares. 

He tells him that he misses him, misses playing with him. 

And Jack is pacing like a caged animal.  And Kent is reaching for him, and pulling him close and pressing kisses to his skin.  And the heat of him is intoxicating.  He’s always been like a furnace, and Kent can’t help but slide his fingers under Jack’s shirt.  And Jack is relaxing against him.  And he keeps whispering _‘No… Parse… Kenny, I can’t do this’_.  But he’s kissing him back. 

Jack is kissing him back, and it feels so right that Kent is pretty sure he could cry.  And Jack smells just the same, and it’s so good that he doesn’t know how to contain himself.  And he starts to hope.  Starts to imagine again.  Visions of playing with Zimms on the ice, and of going home with Jack at night.  Of shared kisses.  Of maybe, finally, at least letting his parents know.  His siblings.  And, then—

“Kenny—“

And the resolve in Jack’s voice makes him go cold all over.

He tries to recover.  Tries to demand.  To plead.  To explain.  And Jack just pulls further and further away. 

He’s such a big man, so solid, so strong.  Kent has always loved that about him.  But when he’s afraid he shrinks in on himself.  He curls up.  He hunches.  He protects the soft parts of himself.  And he’s doing that now.  He’s looking at Kent like he’s afraid of him. Of him! Afraid that Kent wants to hurt him. 

It makes him nauseous. 

It makes him angry. 

And then he proves him right.  Proves to Jack just how poor a friend he is, just how poor a partner he is.  And he yells at him.  Tells him all the things he knows Jack is afraid to hear.  That he’s weak.  Worthless.  That he never will make it in the NHL.  That no one else will ever really care about him. 

And then he threatens him.  He threatens him with the thing that he’s sure has almost killed them both.  Jack’s secret, his secret too.  And for a second he almost thinks that he could.  That he could tell Jack’s teammates.  Tell the world.  But first, he has to get up the courage to tell himself, and to tell Jack. 

He takes a breath, and he knows from the panic in his eyes, that Jack can see it.  That Jack can tell that Kent is done with this lying, this hiding.  And for a second Kent feels so free, almost giddy, because he is finally going to barrel through.  And it will be good for both of them, Kent is so sure in that moment, that it I the right thing.  The Kent can come out.  And Jack can too.  And if he can just drag him out of the closet, even if he’s kicking and screaming, well, then he’ll be the better for it. 

And then there’s the clatter.  And Jack is shoving past him, breathing hard.  And the little blond kid is kneeling in the hallway looking terrified.  And Jack sounds like he’s about to hyperventilate.  He’s shaking, the anxiety rolling off him in thick stinking waves.  And his eyes, are wide, and pleading, and glassy with tears. 

And Kent cannot believe just how messed up things have gotten.  That he came with good intentions, with love and caring, and yeah, maybe some selfishness, but mostly affection, and ended up in this place.  As this person. 

And it’s not good enough, Kent realizes, it’s not going to just get fixed like that.  He can’t make Jack do anything he doesn’t want to.  He can’t make Jack love him again, if he ever did in the first place.  But he also can’t hide anymore.  Because when he finally thought he might not have to, and everything welled up inside of him, and desperately tried to pour out, well, it felt good.  As good as Jack’s hands ever felt.  As right as Jack’s kisses. 

So he walks away.  He puts on his hat, and mumbles something halfway incoherent, and he walks away.  And after he’s driven about two blocks from the house, pulled over, and sobbed just a little bit at the thought of having really lost Jack for good, then he plans.  Because he doesn’t have to bring Jack down.  But he knows he can’t keep himself hidden anymore.  He can’t keep being this sarcastic, mean, machine just to push down the hurt.  And so he plans. 

And then he drives back to his team, takes a nap, and wins a hockey game. 

And until he figures things out it will just have to be enough. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent comes out. Well, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Home stretch my lovelies! I'm hoping to finish this week! I should have two more chapters and possibly an epilogue depending on how I decide to structure them. 
> 
> I'm really trying to finish with this story this week because!!! I have a couple of new Check Please! projects I'm involved in that are going to be amazing, and I cannot wait to share. So keep an eye out for those in the coming month. But in the meantime, here, for your reading pleasure, is our poor sweet Kent finally figuring it out.

Kent sits on his decision.  

 

Kent--who is so decisive on the ice, who has trophies and awards and accolades to prove that he is a leader, a quick thinker, a decision maker--that is the same Kent who has waited years upon years to make a decision about deciding.  The same Kent who now knows what he has to do, and doesn't do it.  The same Kent who finishes out the entire season in silence.  Endless, stifling silence.  

 

And it's Jack Zimmermann, as usual, who is the lynchpin, the deciding factor, the goddamned raison d'etre of his entire miserable life.  

 

Jack Zimmermann signs with the Falconers.  He doesn't even attend the Aces' camp.  And he signs with the Falconers.  And it's not as though Kent is  _surprised_.  This was always the most likely outcome.  So no, Kent isn't surprised. And if he's perfectly honest with himself? Well he isn't even that hurt.  They just leave a dull ache, these unrequited feelings of his.  And they always will.  There will always be a piece of Kent Parson that he left wedged into the cracks between the tiles in Jack's childhood bathroom in Quebec.  A little piece of himself that soaked into the grout, and so amount of lime can ever, ever get it out.  

 

So there's a little hollow space inside Kent that aches a little, but it only hurts to see him, to have the proof right in front of him that he no longer has Jack.  That he never will.  But it's also freeing.  Because he doesn't feel quite so responsible anymore.  And he doesn't need to--Jack has made it.  Jack is in the NHL.  

 

So Kent comes out.  

 

Well, that is that he starts to at least.  

 

He tells Kit.  And she still seems to love him. One down he thinks.  One down.  So, so many to go.  And he buries his face in her fur and just tries to breathe. 

 

And slowly, he continues. 

 

It is late June when goes home to New York. He tells his sister. And she's not surprised. And it's such a relief--just to have someone believe him.  

 

"I know," she tells him. 

 

"Then why didn't you just say something?!"

 

"I trust you to know yourself better than I do. And you didn't seem ready for me to know." 

 

And that, at least, is true. 

 

She wraps him up in her arms, resting her head on top of his.  

 

"You're the same Kent you were yesterday, you know.  This doesn't change anything."  

 

Kent nods, but he doesn't believe it.  He feels different.  The whole world feels just a little bit clearer.  And later that week, when they both take the Metro North into New York and march along in the sun at the Pride parade, well, he feels as light as air.  

 

Not even the pap photos of his shirtless dancing can dim his joy. 

 

Not even the accompanying caption proclaiming that he's straight.

 

Because when his mother brings it up to him later that summer when she stumbles on them on some Hockey web forum, well Kent tells her. That yes, that's him. Yes, he marched in the Pride parade. But no, he isn't straight. 

 

And she just asks if he has a boyfriend. No tears, no shock. She doesn't care how she gets her grandbabies, just that she gets them. So even though Kent doesn't have a /boyfriend/, just one more guy in a long line of casual flings, he invites him over. 

 

And then he _really_ doesn't have a boyfriend because his mother's baby fever is terrifying, and the poor guy is 18. (Yeah yeah, ok, but he's really hot and Kent isn't exactly corrupting him--the other guy knows tricks Kent hasn't even dreamt of.) But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. And he doesn't care because he and his mother spend his last week at home watching action movies(his mother's choice) and Twilight (Kent's choice because it's totally a classic, right?). They watch movies. And they talk. And Kent tells her everything. Everything he has never said out loud to anyone. About Zimms. About his fears. His hopes. How amazingly hot he thinks Hugh Jackman is. 

 

How he's going to come out. 

 

And she tells him one thing. But it's ok because it's the only thing he needs to hear. 'I love you, Kent, and you deserve to be happy.' 

 

'I love you, Kent, and you deserve to be happy.' 

 

'You deserve to be happy.' 

 

'You deserve to be happy.' 

 

She tells him so many times that he begins to believe it himself. 

 

And then he goes back to Vegas and he tries as hard as he can to live up to her pronouncement. 

 

He kisses Kit. Gets back to training.  And he plans. How he will tell the Aces' Organization first. Then his teammates. Then in November, when they travel cross country to play the Falconers, he'll tell Jack.  No one but his mother knows that bit. And he can tell that she doesn't approve. That she thinks he doesn't owe Jack anything. That it has nothing to do with Jack. But the little hollow bit in his belly knows better. Because Jack deserves to know, at least.  He does promise his mother that his mind is made up no matter what Jack says. And he really hopes that he doesn't have to test his own resolve. 

 

His team's PR team tries to discourage him from coming out. 

 

"You'll be the first." 

 

"The backlash will be brutal." 

 

"Look, we don't care if you're gay, but do you have to tell everyone?" 

 

And Kent swallows down a lump of panic, and whispers "yes." 

 

And it turns out that even though they don't want him to come out, well, they were already prepared. They have so many ideas. Press releases. Written statements. Funny little videos. 

 

And he tells them all no. I'm going to say it. I have to be the one to say it. 

 

So they let him. 

 

It’s slow at first.  First his wingers.  They’re close.  They aren’t surprised.  They’ve seen him at parties. 

And full of good vibes and happy thoughts he starts to go faster. 

I’m gay.

_Whatever, Kent.  Just play hockey._

I’m gay.

_Cool bro, and?_

I’m gay.

_Eww, dicks.  Well, better you than me._

I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay.

It becomes a mantra. 

Ugh morning runs are the worst. I’m gay.

Oh man I’m hungover, and I’m gay.

Sure, not everyone is thrilled about it.  A couple of the rookies won’t face him in the locker room anymore.  And he gets called fag a bunch in practice.  But mostly, mostly it’s fine, and he almost can’t believe it. 

It becomes easy.  To say ‘I’m gay.’ To believe it.  To let it live in his skin and feel comfortable with it.  And it’s so good that Kent can hardly stand to wait.  He wants to be out everywhere.  Even where it might hurt him.  Because he feels like he could fly. 

And then the team packs up for a roadie.  And they do fly.  They fly to Boston.  They drive down to the Falconers.  And Kent is staring at Zimms across the ice, and he thinks ‘I’m gay,’ and the words shrivel up on his tongue, and he can hardly breathe through the taste of ash in his mouth. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent comes out in his own excruciating way. Then he suffers. Such is the life of Kent Parson. But it won't always be that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! It looks like this thing finished itself more quickly than I expected it to. I had planned on an epilogue, but I'm not sure anymore if it needs one. Let me know if you want an epilogue in the comments, or, you know, tell me to shut up! 
> 
> It's been such a pleasure going on this journey with you all, fellow Kent appreciators(or haters, you're alright too I guess!). This wasn't the fic I set out to write, but it's the one I think I had to write. I hope you've enjoyed the ride!

It's the first time they've been on the ice together in over 6 years. Kent feels it in his bones. This unpleasant/pleasant awareness, like the ache in your muscles when you wake up after a workout. How you tighten up, how gingerly you have to hold yourself. And how sweet the pain is because of what it signifies.

And that is what lances through Kent as he stares at Jack across the ice. Even as his words shrivel up in his mouth, and his tongue goes thick and heavy with fear, there is a piece of him that thrills at the sight of Jack on ice. At the feel of the slick surface beneath his own skates. And at the knowledge of just how connected they are in that moment. By the ice, through the ice. And it feels so comforting, to know they are still connected no matter how far apart they have grown. Like that idea--is it a poem? A story? Kent can't remember. But he remembers his mother telling him about two trees growing close together until a wall is built up and up and up, and they can't see each other anymore. But as they've grown, as they've matured into the big, fruitful trees they are, their roots have grown unseen. And they reach out beneath the wall--out to their old friend--and intertwine. And so even though they have grown up, been separated, been cut off from each other, they are still connected by their roots. Still a part of the other. Still shaping each other's lives in spite of the distance between them.

And standing there on the ice, gazing across at Zimms, Kent feels a little hint of peace creeping in alongside the fear.

And he squares his shoulders. And they play.

The Aces lose.

  
Kent hates losing. He has a reputation for punching walls, for huffing and snapping at people when they lose. But for once he's almost glad. For so much of his life watching Jack win has been more important than winning for himself. It's not really a healthy attitude--like, seriously, he gets that. It's pretty much the exact thing that got him all wrapped up in this drama over coming out.

Maybe he wouldn't have come out sooner. Maybe he still wouldn't be coming out. Kent can't help but feel, though, that if he had only been looking out for himself just a little then it might not have hurt quite so much. It's honestly exactly what his mother has been telling him since the summer--not that he shouldn't care for Jack, but that he can't put someone else's well-being ahead of his own over and over and over. Especially when he's made it very clear that Kent's well-being is the furthest thing from his mind.

One last time though, it's ok just this once, Kent thinks. Because Jack is radiant. He looks happier than Kent has perhaps ever seen him. And that is so good. And then Jack is skating over to him. He's turning that smile on him, and he's whooping and wrapping him up in his strong arms. Kent's knees feel like jelly, and he's thankful for the broad chest to lean his head on, the solid torso to hold onto.

It feels, for a brief moment, as though things have come full circle. They are back where they should be together--on the ice, playing the sport they both love. Kent feels a twinge of sadness that this is probably all they'll ever share--that they will be friends held at arms length, and hockey players together, but never again will they be lovers. But this, this thing is so good. This shared love of hockey, this bond of past love for each other, well it's something. It feels joyful.

And the words bubble up out of his mouth, whispered into the damp skin of Jack's neck. 'I'm coming out, Jack. I'm going to come out.' And he knows as soon as he's said it that this was the wrong way to do it, that Jack can't handle this in public, that he's going to freak out, and melt down, and blame Kent.

But then he doesn't. Jack just stiffens, and pulls away. Gone is the joy, the laughter, the excitement. Jack just glares down at him, eyes shining, and ice, ice cold.

"You can't, Parse. That's not your choice alone. Don't be such a selfish prick," he hisses, and then he turns, all military precision, and carefully concealed rage, and he skates off.

Kent sags against the boards, and he doesn't care what it looks like.  
What he looks like. He is too weary to care even about what Jack has said.

So when a reporter asks him about the 'now iconic hug' at the press conference later that evening, he sighs and he answers him. He feels beaten, downtrodden. He's limp, and damp, and sad. Even his cowlick has somehow been tamed. And when the reporter asks if the hug had been a lover's reunion, well Kent tells him the truth.

"No. Jack Zimmermann and I aren't dating, nor have we ever dated. We have only ever been friends, and sometimes not even very good ones. So sorry that isn't the story you wanted. But instead, perhaps this will do. i'm gay. So I guess you were only fifty percent wrong. Jack and I have never dated, but I would have once. Because I'm gay--homo, queer, pansy--whatever you want to call me, I don't care. It didn't impact my hockey before, and it won't now that people know. I was gay when I won the Calder. I was gay when I won the Stanley cup. And I'll be gay when I win the Art Ross this year. So that's your story. You can suck dick, and still play really good hockey."

The room is silent. And then Kent turns and runs, and the room erupts. He runs all the way to the locker room. He grabs his things and high tails it over to his hotel where he locks his door, turns off his phone, and knocks the land line phone onto the floor. It goes flying, the receiver cracking down the side as it hits a table leg. And that's it. Kent chokes out a sob, and hurls himself onto the bed. And he lets himself cry. He cries for himself, for Jack, for the boy he was and the man he wants to become. He cries because it shouldn't feel this way to be yourself. It shouldn't feel like a hand closing around your throat every time you want to open your mouth and tell the truth. It shouldn't feel like your belly is full of snakes every time you want to kiss someone. And he knows he shouldn't have done it like that, shouldn't have said the things he said, shouldn't have said 'suck dick' on national television. But sometimes you're tired and beaten and you can't win, so you just throw everything you have at a problem and hope something sticks.

Kent isn't ready to know what sticks. So he weeps until his eyes are swollen, and his throat is sore, and he can fall into a hazy sleep.

He wakes up when he hears someone in the hall outside his door. He strains to hear the words, but they're muffled, and they aren't making any sense.

"Yes, Bits... no... you're right. It wasn't my choice, I know."

And Kent thinks, what is a 'Bits'?

"I know, I know...Oui, mon coeur, je sais. Alright! Yes, I'm here...When I leave, yes."

And the voice fades off into murmurs. Kent shrugs sleepily, and sinks back into the blankets, only to be jerked back awake with a hard rap at the door. Kent jumps to his feet and then freezes, remembering that whomever his visitor is, they might not be his biggest fan. It could be anyone, and--

"Kenny."

Kent groans.

"Kenny, open the door. Come on."

Kent squares his shoulders, and schools his features behind a blank mask. He can't fix how swollen his eyes are, how red they must be, but he can have a little bit of dignity while he lets Jack Zimmermann punch his lights out. He rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door, and takes a deep breath. And then he opens it. And Jack is standing there, wrapped in a coat, cheeks pink and wind-chapped, and he's got his arms crossed, defensive and trying to protect his soft core. But when he looks at Kent, really looks at him, his arms fall to his sides, and he steps in, closer and closer.

Kent flinches.

But Jack is holding him, not hitting him. Jack has his arms up, and he's pulling Kent to his chest gently, so gently.

And he's whispering, "you were right, Kenny. You were right. I'm so proud of you. I'm so sorry."

And Kent can't breathe, can't think, doesn't know how to form words with his tongue anymore, so he just wraps his arms around Jack and he squeezes.

And Jack squeezes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also! Come hang out with me on [tumblr!](http://www.mahons-ondine.tumblr.com)
> 
> We can cry about our gay hockey sons, and if there's anything you'd like to see me write I would love to get prompts!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gets his happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! It looks like an epilogue was in the cards after all.   
> I was going to write a short little thing, but I had a lot of feelings about today, and I needed to give Kent something more.   
> I hope you guys enjoy. I think this gives Kent the ending he deserves, and I hope you guys agree.

The fallout is, well, nothing like he expected.  He expects to be hounded by reporters, and he’s not.  They’re all pretty civilized actually.  It seems if you say something salacious enough right out the gate they’re actually not too worried about sound clips anymore—just gotta wait around until Kent Parson loses his shit again from some gentle prodding, and you’ll get your soundbite.  So yeah, there are reporters, but they’re not actually too terrible.

The Aces PR team meet with him once they fly back to Vegas and it’s kind of a non-meeting.  They just sort of sigh at him, and shake their heads and ask him if he could pretty please not do something like that again, and you know, if he’s going to could he warn them?  He promises that he will, but he’s pretty sure that the word vomit is spontaneous, and if he knew he was going to do it, like, he’d probably just not do the press conference or something? But they seem kind of defeated so he says he’ll try, and it mollifies them.  Well, it mollifies them a bit. 

And then there’s the public.  He apologizes, not for like, sucking dicks, but for talking about it, yeah?  And the PR team just sort of shrugs, and they make him sign two checks to some apology charities for his appalling lack of tact.  But whatever, You Can Play is a pretty good org.  and he got Kit from the ASPCA so he kinda loves them.  And seriously? He’s so filthy rich after years of professional hockey, and sponsorships and all that crap that he can afford it.  It’s actually kinda ridiculous that he hasn’t donated more, but he didn’t think of it.  Too wrapped up in his own drama. 

And that’s kinda the thing—he expected there to still be so much drama after he came out.  He expected wailing and gnashing of teeth and all sorts of fantastic emotional torture.  He expected to suffer for the right to come out.   And he thought that the weight of hiding might go away, but it would be replaced by a pretty significant outside pressure.  And for the most part? He’s pretty wrong.  Yeah, yeah, there are nasty articles online, and a couple of picketers at his games.  Yeah, there are guys on other teams who hurl slurs at him, and throw him just a little too hard against the boards.  Yeah there are guys on his team who are uncomfortable with his being out, and they don’t really talk to him in the locker room.  And yeah, ok some of it hurts.  But his mother calls him in tears to tell him how proud she is of him.  And most of his teammates beat back anyone who gets too aggressive with Kent, and he doesn’t have to drop his gloves once. They just do it for him, more righteous fury on their faces than Kent could ever muster. 

Kent can’t help but feel that he got off easy.  But he’s honestly too relieved to care.  When he has time, that is.  Because mostly? He’s fending off the flood of hot guys that keep messaging him on twitter, and buying him drinks at clubs, and sliding into the bathroom behind him, and literally going to their knees before he can get a word out.  And that’s pretty great, even if it is a little weird. 

Ok, so there’s one day, though, where he doesn’t feel too great about it all.  They’re playing the Thrashers, right?  So they’re down in Atlanta.  And it’s Atlanta so it’s about 6 million degrees outside, and everyone is already miserable when they get to the rink.  Warm ups don’t go well.  Kent is a little sore from the night before, and they’re at the end of a long roadie so everyone is exhausted. 

And then it happens.  The first real act of hate committed against his person by the public.  And it should almost be funny, it is actually, a little funny.  Because how could it not be? How could condoms full of semen being hurled onto the ice not be at least a little funny?  And it is really, until one hits the side of Kent’s helmet.  And then there are drops of congealed come that drip down, down, down, coating his skin, and soaking into his uniform. Kent gags, tears prinking his eyes, because this, this is the moment when he feels least human.  Because never has he felt so dirty in his life. An extra hard check into the boards would be better any day of the week, every day of the week.  Because he is just trying to do his job, and his sexuality has nothing, nothing to do with it.  And it shouldn’t be a problem, he shouldn’t be a problem, but somehow it seems he is. 

They win the game. 

Kent scores a hat trick with the dried come of some rabid homophobic fan drying on his shirt. 

He goes to the press conference because, well you  kind of have to right? If you score a hat trick and you’re the captain of your team, and there’s a fucking hate crime committed against you then you have to go.  For all those reasons you have to go.  And suffer through the endless questions.  The titters from the reporters when he says the condoms were filled with come.  When he answers that yes, of course he knows what come smells like.  And then he’s angry.  Then he’s had it with the whole operation and he just roars at them. 

“Yeah, yeah I know what semen smells like.  Are you fucking telling me you’ve never jerked off?  Give me a break.  You know, the real question here isn’t how I know what jizz smells like.  The real question is why are these guys so desperate to see their come on another guy’s face, huh? Right? Like that’s kinda what I’m thinking—I bet it’s some guy I met in the club last night, and I didn’t want to suck his dick, and he’s just pissed.  So yeah, fuck them. And fuck you. I’m just trying to do my damn job.“ 

As he stomps off to the locker room he sees the Aces’ PR team just staring in shock.  He has a check in their hands by morning.  And he’s sure to tell the press in his apology that the $100K he donated to the Gay Men’s Health Crisis was in honor for the people who spew so much hate. 

He sets up a regular donation to them, and it really does make him feel better. 

And then the season is coming to a close.  The Aces have made it to the Cup Finals.  And Kent can’t think about anything other than hockey.  He shuts off his brain.  Shuts down his sex drive.  He lives and he breathes hockey. Because he feels like this year, this year of all years he really does have something to prove.  He needs to prove that he belongs.  That he deserves every last trophy and title he has won.  That he can lead his team to victory, and it doesn’t matter who he goes home with after. 

They beat the Bruins in five games.  It’s a bloodbath, and Kent has never been so proud. 

At the celebration afterwards he’s nursing his third beer, blissfully happy as his teammates party all around him.  He’s holding court for a while, teammates, and fans and other players pass by in a steady stream to tell them how brilliantly he had played.  How well he had led.  How they support him.  Support gay marriage. How his decision to come out has helped them.  And Kent is glowing.  He feels so warm and pleased and giddy. 

He turns to try to catch the bartender’s eye, and order another beer when a hand claps down on his shoulder.  He jumps, angry words on his lips, then turning, stares at the grinning face of Jack Zimmermann. 

“Good job, Kenny.  You deserved it,” he calls over the music, pulling Kent in for a quick hug.

Kent’s head is reeling, blood rushing in his ears, and Jack is saying something and stepping to the side to reveal another man. 

“This is my teammate Alexei,” Jack yells.

“Am called Tater by my friends.  It is nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, Alexei,” Kent mumbles, sticking out his hand. 

“Call me Tater,” he shouts, batting Kent’s hand away like a fly. “No, no, we don’t do that in Russia.”

“Oh…”

And then Tater is grinning at him, and pulling him close, pressing kisses to each of his cheeks and then a final one to his lips, winking as he pulls back. 

“That is what we are doing in Russia!”

“Oh,” Kent murmurs dumbly. 

And Tater just grins at him, scoops up his beer bottle, and practically bounces off to get drinks.  And Jack, also grinning, leans against the bar next to him, nudging Kent with his elbow.   

“Was that… Did he… I—Jack?” 

“Oh yes. Definitely flirting.  He’s been asking to meet you for ages.  He thinks your interviews are funny.  Said you were ‘cute like tiny fierce orange bear.’  I’m not completely sure what that’s supposed to mean, but you get the picture.” 

“Oh…” 

“He’s a good guy, Kenny.  I think you’ll like him.”

Kent bites his lip hard, trying to force down his emotions.  But when he turns to Jack he knows that Jack can read everything he’s feeling right off of his face.  Jack takes Kent’s trembling hands in his, and squeezes. 

“It’s time, Kenny, time to be happy.  You deserve it.” 

Jack leans in close, and rests his forehead against Kent’s, just for a second, a goodbye.  And then he’s gone, and Kent has to choke back a sob.  But Tater is there, and he’s passing him a beer, and he’s grinning, and he’s beautiful, and it’s ok.  Things are only going to get better, he thinks, taking a sip from his beer.  But Kent isn’t quite sure how, because things are looking pretty perfect just the way they are.  And then he’s smiling so hard it almost hurts.  Almost.


End file.
